A Clear Suggestion

I saw her clutching a mood, uninspired by my eyes, a perfect pale shadow reflecting perfect pale skin. With the bluest eyes, I neglect the sky and wish secretly for my entire arrangement to unravel, so that I may be among the things she keeps near. All twisted words and he won’t remain silent despite the weeks it’s taken me to forget the flood. In this suffering I’ve forgotten the true victim, and I can’t grasp at air when my heart is old and vicious. Hurry, I need the locks of your hair to unravel my inner sinner self. If this is desire, then what is death, and what waits for me when my knees begin to crumble and my will begins to steal opportunities for travel? I saw her like a wild gypsy, hiding behind some particularly strong strain of melancholy, enchanted by solitude and painfully alone and aware. I grabbed at her soul like a spider and made haste in an attempt to seal our fates too quickly. Despite the current and climate and impossible motives, I stretched the truth without a single word, and stared for miles and hours, unable to blink or respond to a casual conversation. Every path was crooked, but I walked like a fool consulting clocks and fantasy. Two weeks made me almost forget nothing, but was enough to bring some order of calm. Now my closets are empty, my hair pulled, and my sleep not even close to sweet. I wait all day, like a gentle hunter, collecting ammunition to shoot myself in the head. If only her eyes would face my want and give me a promise I can take to the grave, I would sit without daggers in my stomach as I frantically search for letters to hang together in some pathetic ritual to win the heart of someone I have no idea about.